


Endgame

by Calleva



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: AU, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 03:15:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16009148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calleva/pseuds/Calleva
Summary: King Louis XIII of France is dead and Paris is seething. Different elements vie for power - how will Regent Treville handle them?This was written as part of a Musketeer 'What If' fanfic topic on a Facebook group. How would things have played out if Treville had acted differently towards the Red Guard?





	Endgame

He was regent of France now. Treville sat at his desk in the Palace and scratched his head. What to do? Those Red Guards could go for a start. He reached for quill and parchment, he only wanted patriots, like his Musketeers.

'His' Musketeers? He was like a father to them, whereas those Red Guards.... and a little voice inside his head said 'You are also their father now'. As regent he must show no favourites. Feron had been a bad governor and used the Reds as thugs to bully and subvert the throne. Was it all their fault? Plus, cutting them loose would send many of them directly to Grimaud. The rest would simply form gangs and cause havoc on the streets of a city already seething. Paris needed a good governor and a militia that could be trusted.

\-------

"We must work together, I hope you agree," Treville was cordial in a way he didn't feel. Marcheaux, sitting opposite him, seemed out of his depth, his usual arrogance gone. He looked so young, Treville thought. "I'm appointing a new governor and taking the opportunity to make some changes...."  
"My men seek only to serve," Marcheaux nodded agreement - 'His' men!  
"Well in the past let us say this has not always been noticed. The history of the Red Guard and its training are mostly to blame. This will change. But to do this effectively I need to reorganise. Some of the Red Guards will become trial Musketeer cadets and their places taken by Musketeers. Many will remain, but others may choose to join the fight against Spain. The Red Guard will remain as a much-needed militia."  
Marcheaux's eyes brightened with hope and it was as if a cloud had lifted from his young face. He had expected far worse than a few Muskies joining. "Thank you, sir...."  
"It will be necessary to move you. I am minded to send you to Porthos' unit and see how you prove yourself. What happens next will be up to you."  
The young Captain's eyes blazed in disbelief "I - I....."  
"My original thought was to disband the Red Guard altogether, but I'm giving you all a chance. Don't disappoint me." Treville stood up and held out his hand.

\-------

"You must be joking - sir..." Athos could hardly find the words.  
"I don't joke about such matters," Treville told him. He walked to the window of his old office and studied the garrison's yard below. "I need them, Athos. France faces a terrible threat - we cannot allow Gaston to usurp the throne. Paris needs a militia to keep order, but I agree, the old Red Guard must die. Its culture of bullying..."  
"They are just criminals in uniform," gasped Athos, "I can't use them."  
"You can and you will. For one, they are badly trained, none can best a Musketeer even in a brawl. You'll get a number of them to train and by way of that, instil some values into them. A disbanded Red Guard out of control is something I can't have. Welcome them, share a few ales, show them some tough training - they'll respect that. In time they will learn to fit in. Anything is possible - they could even go back to their old unit, under a new Captain chosen by me. Try to make the best of it, Athos." The regent stood up to end the meeting.

With the Dauphin safely in hiding and Grimaud unable to control the Red Guard as he had hoped, it was a relatively simple job to track him down. With a grim smile, Athos fired his musket into the cornered rat. One more rabid dog off the streets, he thought. Sylvie wasn't so convinced.  
"You're telling me that your boss has given Marcheaux' men what is virtually a pardon? Marcheaux was the one who wanted to flog me, remember? Do you really think he can change that much?"

Athos frowned and thought hard. He wasn't sure at all if Treville was right. "Well some of the Reds seem to be trying to fit in. Treville stepped up the guard on the gunpowder kegs and included a couple of them. So far, nothing has been taken. With Grimaud out of the way, much of the danger would seem to be past. Gaston has got nothing - Lorraine deserted him and with Grimaud dead the future is with the Dauphin."  
"I'm looking forward to the blessing in the cathedral, I wonder if any Red Guards will be on duty at that?"  
"Along with our own men, very certainly. A couple have absconded, but most have made the most of it. They never were a match for our men, at least we can make them better at what they are paid to do."

\-------

Sitting in his camp, Porthos still couldn't quite get used to his new armour. He preferred his Musketeer pauldron, it was lighter and he could move more freely. Elodie had liked his general's dress though. He smiled to himself - she had said he looked sexy as well as powerful. But a good general had to motivate his men. Take Marcheaux, for instance. That lad had made it clear he hadn't wanted to join. He had come into Porthos' tent with a sullen moodiness, his eyes angry.

Porthos' first instinct was to dress him down, but as he took a deep breath, he suddenly saw the problem;  
"Sit down - wine?" Like a trapped fox, Marcheaux clearly didn't trust him, but he accepted a goblet of good red wine and it seemed to soothe him.

Porthos knew from his papers that Marcheaux had spent most of his young days in an orphanage. Porthos flipped open the file in front of him and began a conversation. It was a very different Marcheaux who left the tent an hour later. Of course he wouldn't become a great soldier overnight, he might not suit soldiering, but it was a start.

Porthos sighed. The Court of Miracles had been a terrible place but there was a comradeship among those who lived there. Feron rescued young Georges from a lonely life of self-survival. Unfortunately the Marquis had played on the skills of fist fighting and bullying that Georges had learned, but he had offered the lad a home of sorts, which is something he'd never had. Emotionally distant and selfish as he was, Feron had been a sort of father figure to the orphan boy with no family. Porthos' own father had been a monster - had Porthos remained in that household, how would he have turned out, he wondered?

In the aftermath of Feron's death, Marcheaux had done some terrible things. Grief can make you numb, Porthos knew. It was hard to accept his treatment of Sylvie and he would need to be watched. He couldn't be in charge of prisoners - yet, anyway. With any luck, he'd sort himself out and even find a nice girl like Elodie.

Porthos smiled to himself. His own life could have turned out so differently if he'd been in Marcheaux' place. Now he had a wife, a home of his own and was honoured by his country. Could life get much better than this? Well, maybe to get out of this armour and into his old gear, and be sitting once again at the bench table in the garrison yard. He looked forward to visiting them all. With the building improvements that he hadn't seen yet, the garrison must look wonderful.


End file.
